


Debut

by ghoulaesthetics (astraielle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), neither of them are fond of it or orlesians, use of in-universe slurs (from the orlesians)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraielle/pseuds/ghoulaesthetics
Summary: The Winter Palace was beautiful, if not completely stressful. Had Isenril been left to her own devices to explore and observe the architecture, she would have been happy enough. If she were anyone but the Inquisitor, she might have even enjoyed people-watching too. Trapped in conversation with yet another Orlesian Lord, she found herself almost envying the Elvhen servants. They, at least, could move freely throughout the crowd without being accosted as the biggest attraction of the night.--In which the Inquisitor finds herself hating Orlesian nobility with a burning passion.





	Debut

**Author's Note:**

> ffffffinally kind of writing again? idk. i just finished the winter palace quest like, last week, and i was kind of disappointed we didnt actually get to see the dance? oh well. i didn't end up writing about the actual event here either lmao. based on actual in game dialogue + a comment from a noblewoman that i got when i tried to vault over a railing in the main ballroom and lost 1 (one) court approval point 
> 
> the prompt i got was “Sometimes you have to think of yourself as a priority.” from talizorahs on tumblr, ty friend 
> 
> alt title for this is ‘isen fucking hates the winter palace and everyone in its walls’

The Winter Palace was beautiful, if not completely stressful. Had Isenril been left to her own devices to explore and observe the architecture, she would have been happy enough. If she were anyone but the Inquisitor, she might have even enjoyed people-watching too. Trapped in conversation with yet another Orlesian Lord, she found herself almost envying the Elvhen servants. They, at least, could move freely throughout the crowd without being accosted as the biggest attraction of the night. 

They all thought themselves extremely clever when addressing her, enunciating their syllables and slowing speech in a patronizing manner as if trying to flex just how intelligent and benevolent they were to the poor Elvhen Inquisitor. She never considered herself someone with a volatile temper, but the way the expressionless masks tilted down at her sympathetically made her want to scream. Josephine and Vivienne’s etiquette lessons had sunk in well, though, and she replied to the invasive questions with a fluid grace that tended to shock most of her conversation partners. She’d even managed to artfully weave in a few cutting jabs of her own into every remark about her heritage, her looks, accent–she could play their game just as well as they could, if not better. She hadn’t survived on her own as long as she had by being stupid, after all. 

Still though, the constant stream of pleasantries was taxing. She consoled herself by reminding herself that it would only be one night. She’d be more than happy to let Josephine go back to handling these people the majority of the time, if it meant she could remove the ever-present falsified smile from her lips. If it was just her, she would have let these people know what she thought of them from the start of the night. But the title of Inquisitor shackled her down and smoothed her reactions to everything that was thrown at her. Not only that, but she was keenly aware that in spite of the things she had done in the name of the Inquisition, her being an Elvhen apostate mage was another large strike against Isenril and everyone she represented. It felt to her as though the courtiers were simply waiting for her to slip up on some level so that it could be used against them all.  

Oh, she’d had insults hurled at her for her whole life, but never quite so many in one night. Never to her face, of course. That would reflect  _poorly_  on whoever chose to use them. No, it always seemed to be just when she was in earshot, too busy smiling automatically as her eyes went blank and practised words tumbled out of her mouth as if she were a puppet. ‘Rabbit’ was the most common of the bunch, but ‘knife ear’ came as a close second. She’d only counted ‘halla rider’ twice that night, which mildly surprised her. They seemed to focus more on what they could see physically than her magic, which she found to be terribly uncreative. If they were going to insult her, try and undermine her and injure her pride, she at least wanted to see them _try_ , she thought dryly. 

And she certainly wasn’t alone in being targeted either. The representatives she’d chosen to bring with her were no better protected from the Orlesian court. Sera seemed to be laughing at them just as much, and she probably expected it too. She spent most of her time talking with the servants though, every time Isenril spotted her, and she absently wondered just how many of them here were  _Friends of the Red Jenny_  as well. After a few conversations, the nobility seemed more than happy to let Sera be, but they did have a few choice words for her amongst themselves. Isenril bit her tongue, wanting desperately to put in a good word for her friend, but knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference. 

Dorian seemed to have the socializing part down, at least, having come from a higher class himself. But she’d never heard the word  _Vint_  muttered so disdainfully in her life, and though he’d insisted he’d been happy to attend with her back at Skyhold, she couldn’t help but feel mildly guilty. Truth be told, aside from a few early conversations between them where she had asked, his Tevene heritage hardly crossed her mind. A privilege, she supposed, of living so far removed from any sort of organized society from the time she was sixteen. It seemed to be all they could focus on here at the Winter Palace. It was almost funny to hear him give as good as he got though, and she made a point of joining in whenever she drifted into the garden where he seemed to have positioned himself for the majority of the night. 

And then there was Bull. Gods, but did they ever have a never-ending mouthful of things to say about her Quinari lover. And in any other situation, she would have had just as many to say right back. Not that he particularly needed her help, to be sure–she trusted that Bull could handle himself, had done so his whole life outside the Qun–but she’d never quite felt anything akin to the flash of heat and rage that rose up her spine and filled her chest when the words  _Beast_  or  _Oxman_  filled her ears. It made her clench her jaw and visibly stiffen, reflexively opening and closing her fingers in an attempt to at least calm down enough to fake a civil conversation. 

She’d been looking forward to at least a dance or two during the night with him, allow herself for at least a minute to get lost in the opulence and romance of it all. But the idea of what would be said pointed at them, at _him_ , if they were seen together in such a context? It twisted itself into a nasty, cold knot in her stomach, tightened by a silent fury. Unconsciously, her hand tightened on her wine glass, the thin cup cracking ever-so-slightly in reaction. She blinked at it a few times blankly, surprised at how easy it gave way under the pressure. 

“You’re looking at that thing like it owes you money, Boss. Ease up a bit, the night’s almost over.” 

Her head snapped up in the direction of Bull’s words. She’d wandered back near him several times during the night, under the guise of getting a Ben-Hassarath’s read on the situation. They both knew she didn’t really need it, that she was observing things on her own too. Isenril was looking for breathing room in the suffocating Winter Palace, and he was happy to provide. She was grateful he kept indulging her; while the crowd had no problems interjecting themselves between Sera or Dorian and herself, they were more wary of Bull, and she could have a few minutes of uninterrupted peace.  

Internally, she winced a bit at the old nickname. She didn’t mind hearing it so much when they were in the field, but this was different. Their relationship was no secret back at Skyhold–the numerous lovebites that constantly dotted her neck and chest were proof enough at that. Back at Skyhold, she could look forward to being _Kadan_ , and she found herself desperately wishing that she could be it here too. 

“Not soon enough,” she said bitterly, eyes roaming over the tittering crowd. There was a good ten-foot range around them that they refused to step in, and she found it pathetically amusing. “If it were anywhere but here, and if I wasn’t so sure I’d be in trouble for it later, I’d have half a mind to–well, half a mind to give them a real piece of my mind.” 

“Oh, come on,” he chuckled, “Josephine can’t be that scary that you can’t get a few words in edgewise.” 

She stared up at him, eyebrow arched. “Josephine would _kill_  me,” she deadpanned. “She’s sweet most of the time, don’t misunderstand, but Creators, Bull, the kind of power that woman wields is too much for any living person.” 

“If you say so,” he said, still chuckling. “It’d be funny, though. Definitely satisfying.”

“I take it you’ve been hearing a variety of the things I have all night?” She asked, taking a careful sip of wine, minding the cracks. Somehow, the liquid wasn’t spilling out, and she wasn’t about to let such a good vintage go to waste. 

“The same and more,” he agreed, looking out at the room with his one good eye, following her gaze. “I’ve gotta say Boss, I know you wanted the people you trusted the most here tonight, but as a collective group…” 

“We’re a bit of a spectacle for the entire court?” 

“Something like that,” he said, lips quirking slightly. “Entertaining as Hell, though, that’s for sure. I counted, and I’m pretty sure they only know an average of five words to refer to us all. I figured a crowd like this might be a bit more creative, but nah, it’s all just run of the mill bullshit.” 

She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling too broadly. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing earlier. If they’re going to try and wound my feelings, I’d like to see a bit of effort, some panache.” 

Focusing on a tittering group not too far off in the corner, he replied without looking at her, “If you keep coming back here, you probably will. They’ve started to get–ugh,  _annoying_  for sure, but I think ‘gossipy’ is probably the more appropriate word here.” 

“How so?” She asked, taking another sip, trying to see if there was something she wasn’t picking up in the room. “I mean, how-so-more-than-normal?” She amended. 

“Probably won’t say anything directly in front of you, but a good number have become absolutely fascinated by the idea of the  _Rabbit_  and the  _Oxman_  in bed together.” He kept his face carefully composed, but she could see the faintest hint of a scowl there. Of course, they’d be more open in their commentary around him. If they way they spoke to her was any indication, they probably assumed he was even less intelligent. 

Her mouth went slightly agape, eyes flickering back and forth rapidly between the group of nobles and his face. “You’ve got to be  _fucking_  kidding me,” she hissed quietly, just within his earshot. Her voice was barely above a whisper and dripping with anger, her mind going a mile a minute as she imagined all the things that were floating around the Winter Palace, all the things that they’d made a point of ensuring she _didn’t_  hear. Shame had nothing to do with it–she’d have walked through the main doors arm-in-arm with him at the start of the night if she could have. But the fact that they could take something that so far had brought her nothing but joy and  _twist_  it into some pathetic consumable fantasy, an oddity, an affront to their Maker–well. It was enough to leave her in the mood for some justifiable homicide, even if it would get her nowhere. 

A gentle-but-firm hand on her back served to ground her slightly. “Easy, Kadan.” He looked calm on the outside, though internally she knew that he must have been just as angry as she was. He looked concerned for her more than anything else at the moment. It was a rare thing indeed to hear Isenril cursing in any place that wasn’t a battlefield or the bedroom. It just wasn’t in her vernacular. 

“Like you said, it’s all low-effort, no real thought to it.” He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. “It’s not worth your anger.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding at the touch and the sound of the pet name. As if on cue, the tension in her shoulders dropped. “I know,” she said tiredly. “I know it’s not, and nothing I say can combat it in any way. The only real solution here would be if they all simultaneously dropped dead.” 

He hid a surprised laugh behind a hard cough, pounding his chest a few times to convince curious passerby. “You know I’d do it if it’d make you happy. Shit, we could probably make date-night out of it,” he said, still amused and fighting back laughter, “But uh, I don’t think either of us could talk our way out of that mess.” 

“Probably not,” she agreed, lips twisting into a small smile. “It’s just been constant tonight, and Creators, they’re all so  _stupid_ , Vhenan. I’ve never been in such a big room with so many empty-headed people in my life, and that’s counting all those mandatory meetings I’ve been forced to attend lately.”

“That’s just how Orlesians are,” he said with a light shrug, pulling his hand back.  “The food’s good, but I can’t say I won’t be happy if we never attend another event like this again.” 

She missed the feeling instantly, but remained rooted in place, resisting the urge to seek out his hand with her own. “Ah, now there’s the real dream here,” she said wistfully and with mock sincerity. “To never have to attend another gathering of nobles in our lifetimes. I’d give my left arm if I could make such a thing come true.” The look on her face was enough to make him laugh again, though not as hard as before. 

As she took the final swig of wine out of her glass, she noticed the group of noblewomen that had been previously making efforts to conceal their fascination with  _how tiny the Inquisitor is compared to her Beast!_  (that one she had definitely picked up the last time she walked in the room) now had their masked faces pointed openly in their direction, half-whispering and pointing amongst themselves, no doubt having watched the small physical display. Really, it was nothing more than anyone else in the room was doing, but because it was them, because she was the  _Inquisitor_ , it bore noticing. It left a bad taste in her mouth, and she knew it wasn’t from her wine. 

“Bull,” she said suddenly, pulling her golden eyes away from the group and turning them towards him. He’d been looking where she was too, connecting the dots faster than she had. He met her eyes quickly, raising his brow slightly. 

“Later, when we’re done with this whole assassin-slaughtering business, you and I should have a dance. Or two. But definitely at least one.”

“Hah, oh shit, can you imagine Josephine trying to explain us to–” He started with an eye roll and a laugh, but then stopped when he caught the look she was giving him. It wasn’t exactly a frown, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d call ‘impressed’ either. “Oh. Oh wait, you’re serious?” 

She looked at him, slightly incredulous. “Uh, yes. To be entirely honest I’ve been wanting to since we got here, but I figured the last thing I needed to do was give them another reason to denounce my position. But I don’t really think it matters at this point. It’s not about that. And sometimes you have to think of yourself as a priority, which is what I’m doing. I’m the priority over these Orlesian twats, and I want to dance with the man I love.”

“Oh,” he said again, smiling more broadly than before. It was genuine, and the way his whole face seemed to brighten at the suggestion made her heart flutter. “Then, yeah, in that case, absolutely. That’s definitely some better incentive than… whatever else it was we were being offered before.” 

“The chance to stop a civil war?” She chuckled warmly, nudging him softly with her elbow. 

“Yeah, that,” he laughed lightly, touching her shoulder briefly once again. “Speaking of that, you should probably get to doing another perimeter check–I can hold down the fort here just fine. No real information, but I’ve spotted at least eight affairs so far and I’m sure Leliana can use that information for something.” 

“Oh, probably,” she said, placing the cracked wine glass on the refreshments table beside them. A servant would have it cleared away before she was out of the room, she was sure. “I’ll see you later, Vhenan,” she said with one final affectionate smile in his direction. 

“Hopefully soon, Kadan,” he said in farewell. It was difficult to wink with only one eye, but she was almost positive she could hear it in his voice. 

She passed the group of staring noblewomen on her way out, head held high and a self-assured smirk plastered on her face. The broke their silence as soon as she walked by, immediately whispering amongst themselves at whatever they’d just witness transpire.  _Let them talk_ , she thought cooly, satisfied in knowing that they’d never get to feel the way she felt in that moment.  _And if the Rabbit and her Oxman cause a stir at the court, well. So much the better._


End file.
